The Annals of the Queen
by NotLaura
Summary: What young noble girl does not dream of marrying a King? A young King, handsome and strong and already half-beloved by the country he had fought to save?
1. A Royal Arrangement

_A/N: Hopefully this isn't too self-indulgent and someone actually enjoys it! Standard disclaimers apply. Thanks to Tasmen for the beta!_

Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove:  
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark  
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wandering bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
Within his bending sickle's compass come:  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me proved,  
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

~Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

**THE ANNALS OF THE QUEEN**

**Part One: A Royal Arrangement  
**

Summer is slipping away. While not cold, exactly, there is enough of a catch in the air to give Mayra pause. The noonday sun is high in the sky and below her window, the Marketplace of Denerim is bustling with the sounds of commerce and construction, rebuilding the city and the economy all at once. Mayra affords herself a small smile at the idea that merely months before, this space had been devastated by siege; but the world moves on, she supposes, and Denerim is in the process of healing.

She cannot help but wonder what it must have been like. For those in the city whose homes had been destroyed, those who had feared for their loved ones, unsure of their return from battle but unwilling to give up hope. A twisted thought, to wish for such pain and Mayra is not unaware of just how fortunate she has been. Her father-- a minor Bann whose lands and armies had been all but uninvolved in The Blight—had spoken of the loss of life only in passing. _This is no subject for beautiful girls_, he had told her, dismissive, _I would prefer my daughter to never know of such things._

What sort of life could one lead without pain? Only the most empty of Mayra's stories had told of heroines without heartache and she had no wish to become weak-willed or simple-minded, defined only by those around her.

She cannot help the laugh that bubbles in her throat, bitter and empty, at the thought she has done just that.

From her window, she can see her father and Arl Eamon returning. She had been brought to the Arl of Redcliffe's Denerim estate just three days prior and the intention had been clear: her marriage was being arranged. Distantly, Mayra knows she should be happy. Delighted, even, for what young noble girl does not dream of marrying a King? A young King, handsome and strong and already half-beloved by the country he had fought to save and all Mayra can think is that she'd rather he marry anyone else in the world.

But their union makes sense, her father had tried so hard to explain. She is a daughter of the Bannorn, but not from a house so powerful as to overpower his own political influence. Arl Eamon had all but selected her personally to become the Queen, extolling her virtues to the young King at every opportunity. She had been officially presented to him just yesterday, and while her heart fluttered at his nervous smile and half-awkward words, the chisel of his jaw and the obvious strength and grace with which he moved... Mayra does not want to marry him.

So often your choices are not yours to make and as a noble daughter, Mayra knows the freedom she had previously known was a luxury. So many others in her place had their entire lives planned out for them before they were even born. Marriages of convenience, of political strength arranged around the men who would benefit the most were commonplace amongst other girls in her position. Oftentimes she had seen her friends removed from court to be married off like produce traded by farmers and the bitter part inside of her knows it is just her turn.

She is lucky, she supposes. While she has only met him once, at least King Alistair seems like a kind enough man and his appearance certainly offers no complaint. He is neither old nor ugly and that in itself is a blessing when it comes to arranged marriages so Mayra closes her eyes and tries to vow that she will make the most of this.

From down the hall she hears her mother's delighted laughter, the sound ringing of pride and Mayra knows what news Arl Eamon has brought: Her engagement is official.

It takes only moments for her mother to burst through the door and confirm, hugging her tightly between exclamations that she is going to be _The Queen_! Her father is there too, beaming with pride and Mayra isn't sure what exactly she _did_ to deserve that because, truthfully, she'd spoken about three sentences to The King at their meeting and really Eamon is the one they need to be thanking... But they look so happy and Mayra is nothing if not a dutiful daughter.

So she smiles in return, beaming at them with false happiness and hoping her charade is not obvious.

-- -- --

Sometimes, Mayra feels like she is caught in a whirlwind. Within a day of finding out, she is dressed up in a beautiful gown and shuffled up beside Alistair to be introduced to the country. He looks more like a boy than a King when he offers her his arm, a half-mumbled apology for how rushed and pompous everything is. She opens her mouth to respond to him, but they are whisked out for their presentation before she gets the chance.

He tells the gathered nobility that she is his chosen bride, they are betrothed.

She wonders if he even knows her name.

The wedding preparations are even worse. Her mother alternates between gleefully picking out flowers and lamenting that six weeks is not long enough to plan a wedding. Mayra spends half her days being measured and poked at by a seamstress and the other half learning all about the customs of being royalty.

It's enough to make her head spin and niggling in the back of her mind is the thought that in just a few scant weeks she will be marrying a man she's never even had a conversation with.

It is not proper for them to be alone, not unmarried! She is to be The Queen, she cannot be seen as having anything but perfect virtue and her mother laughs off her suggestion that she would like to at least share a meal with her promised husband before they are joined forever. _There will be time enough for that later, dear!_ She tells her. _Now don't frown like that, you want your face to look perfect for the wedding!_

Mayra saves her frowns for private, after that.

Only one day before the wedding and she finds herself in the Royal Palace, trailing her fingers along the spines of books in the library as she waits for her mother to finish whatever last minute preparations they are there to complete. She feels out of place, despite the knowledge that this will be her home in just a matter of hours. She is used to a life of luxury, but not on this grand of a scale. She will have servants for her every whim, be given everything she could possibly want or need and as wonderful as that sounds, Mayra feels a little bit like she won't know what to do without wanting for anything...

She doesn't hear him enter, only his slight grunt of confusion followed by "Oh, hello."

When she turns, she finds him standing awkwardly in the doorway of the room, glancing about like he expects something to jump out at him.

"Your Majesty," she offers demurely, dropping a respectful curtsy.

He grunts again, sounding almost like a whine. "Oh no, no. You shouldn't..." but he trails off, brow furrowed. "I mean to say, we're to be... well, we're to be married so you shouldn't submit to me like that..." He scrubs at the back of his neck with his hand and Mayra again notices just how _young_ he seems.

"You are still The King." She offers quietly.

"Yes, well, I am." She thinks she sees him grimace slightly, but it is gone before she can really be sure. "And I'm telling you to call me Alistair." He nods at that, as if pleased with himself. "We're going to be married, we should at least be on a first name basis, right?"

He looks so _nervous_ and Mayra can't help but be thankful that she is not the only one with reservations. "If that pleases you, your highness." It comes out automatically, the practiced grace of a woman used to being subservient. "I shall call you Alistair." The name feels funny on her lips and she realizes this is the first time she has spoken it aloud.

"It does, absolutely." His grin is brilliant, if wavering and she feels a faint flutter in her chest. "Shall I be permitted to call you Mayra in return?"

_You just did_, she wants to tell him, but he is so obviously new and uncomfortable with the courtesies of proper conversation and it pulls the barest hint of a smile onto her mouth. "You shall."

The silence stretches awkwardly between them for a moment and she notices him glance towards the door more than once. Just when Mayra has convinced herself to say a proper farewell and bid him leave to find her mother, they are interrupted by the arrival of a woman.

The hero of Ferelden, Mayra recognizes. Now the leader of the Grey Wardens, the warrior who had fought alongside Alistair and saved the country from The Blight. She looks tired and resigned, stopping just a step into the library with the faintest of frowns.

"I apologize, your majesty. I did not mean to interrupt."

"No, you're not. We were just... that is to say..." he trails off lamely, something Mayra can't discern flashing across his features.

"I merely came to bid you farewell, I apologize I cannot attend your wedding but I am needed in Amaranthine immediately." She glances at Mayra as she speaks, leaving her feeling unsettled in her own skin.

Alistair looks like he might say something, but merely shuts his mouth and nods.

"I wish you the happiest of marriages, my lady." The Hero of Ferelden is nodding to her politely and Mayra cannot shake the sense that the platitude is as empty as they come.

"Thank-you," she whispers out, her eyes darting between Alistair and the woman who makes her retreat hastily. Alistair stares after her for long moments and somehow Mayra feels even more awkward than before, as if she is witnessing something intensely personal that she should not be privy to.

But Alistair has turned back to her, then. "I suppose this is goodnight until tomorrow then." He takes her hand, kissing the top of it gently and in that moment he is every bit The King he is supposed to be. "I hear there's a wedding to attend tomorrow." He flashes that grin, tugging unbidden at her chest and all Mayra can do is nod as he makes his retreat.

She should be thankful they had this moment together, that she has at least spoken briefly with the man to whom tomorrow joins her forever. He had been nervous, but charming in his bumbling way. So clearly in need of instruction in the proper etiquette required for a King, and Mayra knows she could tutor him, raise him to that standard, be useful to him as a wife and as a Queen.

In the deepest part of her mind, she can't help but think of the way he had looked at _her_... So hopelessly broken for just a moment...

She smoothes her skirts as she hears her mother approaching. It would not do to dwell on such things, she needs to be rested for her wedding, after all.


	2. The Consummate Gentleman

_A/N: Thanks to Tasmen and Crisium for holding my hand through this!_

**Part Two: The Consummate Gentleman  
**

Mayra's heartbeat is audible, she is sure of it. The rapid thump had been slowly growing in volume all day and she is convinced the entire castle must be able to hear her nerves. The wedding ceremony itself had not been so bad. Gathered amongst the nobles of Ferelden, her family, she had sworn herself to The King for life. She had kept her smile serene, hoping the gown looked as beautiful on her as her mother insisted it did. Her hair had been gathered into an elaborate pile atop her head, jewelled combs placed strategically and Mayra felt a little bit like someone's toy doll while they had fussed about and prepared her.

She scarcely remembers getting married, only flashes of moments that have not quite faded into the blur: Alistair in his golden King's Armour, looking at her as she approached. The sweat on his brow, obvious nerves, the slight apologetic smile that crossed his lips before her kissed her to seal their union. Chaste and quick, the barest brush of his lips on hers and Mayra was not sure if it was supposed to be that brief and light... but she had never been kissed before and she supposed he must know what he was doing, being a King and all.

She doesn't remember much of the reception either. She remembers dancing with him, her husband, and noting how his brow furrowed in concentration. She remembers being just close enough to see his lips move slightly as he counted the steps and that faint tug of a smile onto her lips as she realized what he was doing. Beyond that, she knows there was music and drinking and food, she knows she dutifully held onto Alistair's arm as they navigated the crowd.

And now, Mayra knows her nerves have never been more tense. Her shift is much too short and she isn't sure whether she wants to pull it up to cover more of her breasts or down to cover more of her thighs... Her mother had laughed off her look of horror at the garment, promising something about her wifely duty and pleasing her husband and Mayra had blushed so furiously she wasn't sure she really heard everything.

She knows the basics, of course, but as her mother had brushed out her hair and forced her into the frighteningly small shift Mayra found herself wishing she'd had the courage to listen to the serving girls more closely when these matters were discussed... but she had been a proper daughter, turning away at conversation that could be considered in any way racy and now she sits awkwardly on the edge of the bed (in the Royal Bedchamber, she reminds herself) awaiting her husband's arrival.

She isn't sure if she wants to run or throw up.

The crack of the door startles her from her fearful reverie and she finds it almost soothing to notice that Alistair looks as nervous as she feels. He had shed his armour after the ceremony, but he still looks every bit a king in his finery.

The solid click of the door shutting behind him seems to echo through the room and Mayra thinks her heartbeat has gotten impossibly louder.

"Um, hi." He offers, standing awkwardly at the door with a nervous smile.

"Hello."

For a brief moment she thinks he might turn around and leave but he seems to settle an internal debate and walks towards the bed, stopping only a few feet from where she sits. "You look, well, lovely."

It doesn't escape Mayra that he sounds a little shocked by his own admission, but she feels herself flush anyway. "Thank-you."

His hands are moving restlessly, as though he doesn't know what to do with them but he flashes her a grin that's just too weak to feel truly genuine. "Well, we're married. And alone."

She nods, heartbeat kicking up again. "Yes we are."

He swallows and she finds her eyes drawn to his throat for just a moment. "So..." he trails off again and she thinks she hears a muttered curse. "I've never really been the instigator in these matters... before." He's blushing furiously and she opens her mouth to answer, but he continues. "So I'm sorry that this is so very awkward and not perfect and romantic. Have you?"

She feels her mouth drop open, gaping at him.

"Before, I mean? With a, well with a man I suppose?" He clarifies.

Mayra's cheeks are aflame and she's unsure if she's more mortified or offended. "Of course not!" She manages to sputter out, staring at the ceiling. Did he not know proper behaviour for a lady? Did he think he had married some spoiled woman? Surely the subject of her virtue had been tabled during the arrangement for their marriage?

When she finally brings her eyes back to him, he looks sufficiently chastened. "I'm sorry." A wince, and he continues "I didn't mean to... to imply anything untoward." He sighs, moving to sit beside her on the mattress. Close enough that she can feel the warmth of him but not so close as to be touching. "Perhaps it should've been mentioned to you sooner, but I'm not, well, I'm not exactly very good at being king."

_Well, at least he knows that..._

"It's okay." She says finally. "I can help you with that."

"Really?" Beside her, she can feel his tension ease a little bit and thinks that maybe this is closer to what a married couple is supposed to be: working together, knowing each other...

Mayra nods, turning her head to smile at him, a little shyly. "First piece of advice: don't go asking young noble girls if they've ever been with men. It's quite rude."

To his credit, he manages to look sheepish when he smiles back at her. "Noted." There's something in his eyes she can't quite discern, but he grins brilliantly at her "From now on, I will only ask old noble girls about their bedroom histories."

She laughs at that, feeling for the first time all day like her nerves are relaxing. He is bumbling and his manners aren't as polished as they should be... but he is kind and funny and she likes his smile so maybe this will be all right after all?

She doesn't know when the strap of her shift slid off her shoulder, but he's looking at her as if asking permission, his fingers hovering above her skin and after a pause that feels like forever, her very gently slides is back into place. It's different, somehow, than the feel of his hand in her own, or his touch on her back through the layers of her dress. This is just his fingertips, very barely brushing the skin of her arm, and he retreats his hand back to his side all-but immediately.

Mayra thinks it's probably not supposed to make her breath catch quite so much.

But he's looking at her again and she finds herself realizing that this is her _husband_ now, for good or for ill. They are married and in their bedchamber and she probably needs to get used to his hands touching her skin.

In the royal bedchamber and her tiny shift, Mayra feels incredibly exposed.

He's shifted away from her again, hand resting on the bed between them and through the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears she thinks he appears to be breathing as nervously as she is. It seems silly, by his own admission he's told her he's done this before... she stamps down the curiosity. _Who_ and _When_ and _Where_ are not her business and she knows it. There is no room for misplaced jealousy, however strangely the knot in her stomach is twisting at the idea.

He clears his throat, rising to his feet and offering only a moment's hesitation before he takes her hand and gently pulls her to stand as well. His hands still seem restless, somehow, though he settles them lightly at her hips. "Mayra..." His eyes are searching hers, but she doesn't know what he looks to find.

When he leans towards her, her eyes flutter close and she isn't sure what she's expecting...

The brush of his lips on her forehead isn't it.

He's releasing her, stepping away and rubbing at the back of his neck again, looking around the room. "Maker, I don't... Mayra, I don't know that I can do this."

She drops her gaze to the ground, unable to stop the rush of shame that floods her as she tries to cover herself. But the shift is too small, reveals too much and she feels exposed and rejected and the knot in her stomach aches in new foreign ways.

"I..." She trails off, swallowing and wishing he would just disappear before he sees the tears that are forming in her eyes.

_The wedding night is your duty as a wife, it will come naturally_, her mother's voice rings in her ears and Mayra feels shame and failure spreading through her.

"Oh no! No, no don't cry!" He sounds a little desperate, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder and she tries not to shrink away from his touch. "I don't mean... it's not that you're not-" Another muttered curse and Mayra's eyes are still squeezed shut, trying to push back the tears.

"You're a beautiful girl... woman. You're a beautiful woman." He squeezes her shoulder at that and she wonders in the back of her mind if he thinks it brings comfort? "It's not that, I promise. It's... We don't even know each other!" He sounds exasperated, but his hand is still on her shoulder and she can't exactly argue that particular point...

So Mayra blinks back her tears and raises her head, hoping she doesn't look overly pathetic. "What would you like to know?"

He gapes at her for a moment, mouth working silently before he starts to babble. "What do you like to do? What's your favourite colour? How do you feel about cheese? I just... I feel like we should know these things about each other before, well, before we..." he looks pointedly to the bed, then back at her and through the half-banished tears she feels the flush creeping back.

"Um. I like to read, I like blue, I don't really have an opinion on cheese?" She's not sure of the relevance, but he's smiling at her again and there's comfort in that.

"No opinion on cheese?" He shakes his head. "We'll need to change that."

His hand slides off her shoulder, trailing down her arm to take her hand in his once more and she feels shivers where he touches her. "Why don't we just... lie down and talk? Get to know each other?"

Mayra's heartbeat feels settled and Alistair's holding her hand and his is warm and comforting and he is her _husband_ now so if he wants to get to know her, she is fine with that.

They talk late into the night, of their lives and their likes and the country they now rule. His arm is around her shoulders and she's curled against his side laughing softly at his jokes and telling him all about her life. She knows this is not what is meant to happen on a wedding night, but late into the night he brings his mouth to hers for a kiss and murmurs goodnight against her lips and Mayra cannot help but smile.

Their wedding night had brought them closer and she closes her eyes to fall asleep with his arm around her, his body warm beside her own. Her last thought as she drifts off is that she's happy and he seems happy and they're less awkward around each other and that's enough for now.


	3. Little Girl's Stories

_A/N: Sorry for the delay, I have literally never stressed so much about a chapter in my life. I really hope this comes across the way I've intended. *huge* thanks to Crisium and Tasmen for putting up with my need for constant hand-holding._

**Part Three: Little Girl's Stories**

For three days, Mayra exists in an in-between. A tentative kind of peace, forged in whispered darkness where she settles against Alistair's side and talks of many things. They learn each other through questions and answers; he tells her about his upbringing. Of Redcliffe, of The Chantry, he chuckles and lying against his chest she can feel it rumble. So she laughs in return, telling him tales of growing up as a daughter of the Bannorn and wondering how he possibly finds _her_ life interesting at all. But he seems genuinely interested in knowing, grinning at her and running his hand along her arm.

For three days, she wears the ridiculous shift to bed every night.

On the fourth day, her mother pulls her aside into a sitting room, frowning. "Mayra, the servants are talking." She tells her quietly, eyes darting around as if worried someone will hear.

"I would hope so, they're not mutes." Mayra frowns in turn, confused.

Her mother sighs, reaching over to smooth her hair down like she had done when Mayra was young. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

Her frown deepens. "No? Mother, what are you talking about?"

Her eyes scan the room once more, her voice dropping another level. "Is he-Does he not have... Mayra, there are herbs and poultices, if he cannot perform."

"Wh-what?" Surely she wasn't... and how would the servants even know? _The sheets, _she realizes in a moment of panic.

"Is it... are you scared, dear? Is that it? When I told you it would hurt at first I didn't mean to frighten you from it altogether."

Mayra knows it is improper for a lady to gape, but she cannot seem to close her mouth, staring at her mother with a look of horror.

"My first time wasn't that bad. Your father was very kind and-"

"Mother!" Mayra manages to gasp out, face aflame. "It's not... it's not anything like that."

Her mother's frown turns to concern. "Then what is it? I know I don't need to tell you how important it is to secure your marriage, to produce an heir."

"I know that, mother." She looks down at the floor, exhaling slowly. "We barely know each other, these things take time."

Her mother scoffs. "Mayra, you are a married woman. Married to a _King_, at that! What is most important here is for you to lay back and do your duty for your country, it doesn't matter if you know each other."

"I don't-"

"No. Mayra, this is no place for little girl's stories about love."

Hours later she stands naked in an antechamber to their bedroom with the ridiculous shift in her hands. It seems foolish to put it on, again; to spend another night half-blushing and curled beside him. She is tired and unsettled and she doesn't want to wear it anymore. But her mother's voice rings in her ears, duty and stories and myth, so Mayra obediently pulls the fabric down over her head and steps back into the bedchamber.

He's not there.

With a determined expression she slips between the blankets and tells herself she isn't relieved. She's slept there the better part of a week, but in the silent darkness the Royal Bedchamber feels strangely alien now. The castle settles around her and without the comforting thump of Alistair's heartbeat to drown it out, Mayra focuses on every little shifting sound.

She isn't sure how long she lays there, but it is well past a reasonable hour when she hears the door. She can tell he's trying to be quiet but he is far from an expert at stealth. Absently, she considers the fact he is supposedly such a formidable warrior yet there is no grace to be heard as he undresses in the darkness and slips into bed beside her.

He seems tense, lying beside her in the darkness and for a moment she isn't sure if he realizes she is awake.

"We need to..." He trails off, his voice an odd mixture of embarrassment and determination.

Mayra shifts onto her back, mimicking his position as she stares up at the ceiling. "I know."

Another long silence stretches between them, confining and dark. "Let's just... now." She says finally, hoping he doesn't recognize the note of fear in her voice.

"We don't have to." He states simply. "We could just mess up the sheets and tell Eamon it's been dealt with?" He sounds a little hopeful at this and Mayra's stomach lurches, somehow.

She swallows, her voice sounding small and hurt. "It... Is it really so awful to think about?" She curls her arms around her stomach, under the blankets and tries to keep herself from crying.

"What? No! No, of course not! You're..." He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face slowly. "You're beautiful, I've told you that. And I've really enjoyed the last few nights. And it's not that I haven't _thought_ about it..." In the darkness she can feel him shrug. "It just doesn't feel fair. To you, I mean."

When she doesn't say anything, he continues. "You should get to fall madly in love and do... do this with someone because you _want_ to, not because you have to."

She closes her eyes at that, something dark and heavy creeping into her nerves. "I am married to you."

"Yeah." He exhales slowly and Mayra isn't sure what she feels at all. But then he's moving, rolling onto his side and leaning over her.

"It is our duty" She says softly. "For Ferelden."

He smiles then, the briefest flash and it doesn't reach his eyes. But he's warm above her and she isn't sure what she's supposed to do, but he seems to have an idea.

"For Ferelden." He repeats numbly.

She closes her eyes as he kisses her, then. It's not like his goodnight kisses, not sweet and intoxicating. He's kissing her with more pressure than she's used to, but his hand is still light on her arm and she clings to the familiar tingling heat his touch pulls from her skin.

It's less familiar when his mouth slides from hers, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her throat and he's shifting again, settling himself half above her and all she can think to do is hold on to his arms.

He's heavier than she would have imagined, but he has his weight carefully balanced on his arms and knees, hovering enough above her so as not to press her into the blankets. His mouth is warm and wet against her neck, her collarbone and is feels halfway between tickling and... something else.

Mayra isn't sure what to do.

He half sits up, pausing a moment before pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere into the darkness of the bed chamber. He shifts again, settling himself entirely atop her and while he's still leveraging his weight, she can feel every inch of him against her.

It's... she's not sure. It's nice, and her breath is catching a little bit and there's something new twisting in her stomach. It's also terrifying, and he's so much bigger than she is and while his hands are gentle and his mouth is warm, it's all very new and... a little scary.

His hand closes over her breast through the shift and Mayra can't help but gasp a little as he kneads it gently. When she opens her eyes, he's looking at her questioningly but she doesn't know what he's asking so she just nods.

Alistair kisses her again.

Somewhere, shouting in her mind, she wants to stay like this. The strangeness of his weight above her makes her warm and tense all at once and his mouth is open against her own and she's almost convinced herself that she can handle this.

His hand finds the skin of her thigh, just below the hem of her ridiculous shift. She arches towards him, just the slightest and his hand is sliding up, pushing the fabric until it's gathered at her waist and his hand is resting on her hip. He's still kissing her and she's trying to think about that instead because even with the newfound pressure and insistence of his mouth, it's still the ghost of something familiar and that helps.

She almost doesn't notice his hand moving, sliding over her hip and between her legs and- Mayra pulls back from him then, her legs trying to close from instinct alone but he's dropped his head to her shoulder and patiently eases her thighs apart once more.

His fingers are large and seem to fumble a little bit, but she's never been touched like _this_ before and it's something other than pure panic that speeds up her breath. Her hands tighten against his arms and she whimpers slightly when he withdraws, pushing up to his knees and looking down at her.

Her throat tightens because she's lying there with her shift pushed up over her hips and she's blushing and nervous and surely he's going to... she isn't sure what she's afraid of. That he will reject her? No, he's unlacing the front of his pants and she averts her eyes to stare at the ceiling.

But he's removed his clothes and this time when he settles down atop her he is between her thighs and she can feel every inch of his body against her own.

"Mayra..." His voice is a little rough, slightly strangled. "This... For a woman it's supposed to..."

He swallows and she nods. "I know."

One last apologetic look and he's reaching between them, shifting slightly as he situates and she can _feel_ him for a moment and then- Mayra squeezes her eyes shut and grips his arms.

He's pushing into her slowly, and for a moment he looks as scared as she feels and numbly she thinks that's a little stupid because he's done this before and- pain, sharp and hot and aching. He seems to expect it, covering her cry with a kiss and going still above her.

The silence stretches, just the sound of his breathing and her heavy gasps and Mayra isn't sure what's worse: the pain, or the fact he isn't moving but she doesn't know how to _ask_ him to move so she lays there, blinking away the tears that threaten.

"Are...Are you okay?" he breaks the silence weakly.

She just nods, fingers still tight against his arms and she doesn't _know_ what she wants or needs but he's so _still_ and worried and she bites her lip and forces herself to look in his eyes.

There's something not quite sadness and not quite fear reflected in his eyes. But he smiles at her, pressing a kiss to her cheek which she can't help but think is so strangely _sweet_ and then he's moving within her.

It's not so bad then, the friction not so much easing the pain as distracting her from it and his breath is shallow and ragged. She squirms a little underneath him, adjusting her hips from instinct alone and-there, it's even better then and he seems to agree, groaning into her shoulder. Her hands move from his arms to his sides, sliding against his ribcage and she gasps a little as his pace increases. It still hurts, dull and aching, but there are other sensations and it all mixes together in something not exactly _unpleasant_...

"I'm-" He gasps against her and his movements grow uneven for a few final thrusts and Mayra isn't really sure what's going on but he leans forward, pushing her into the bed with his weight and catching his breath.

For a few long moments she lays there, joined with her husband, her king with only the sound of their breathing. Finally, he eases himself off of her, laying on his back beside her in the bed and she isn't really sure what to _say_.

Her shift is still gathered around her hips and there's- well, there's a small mess between her thighs and Mayra flushes red from embarrassment.

"I'll be right back." Her voice is faint and when she climbs to her feet she feels a little unsteady. The ache is still there and she makes her way into the small antechamber that holds her things. The door shuts behind her and she thinks for a moment she may just start weeping. She can't pinpoint any of the feelings churning inside of her, a startling mix of emotion that threatens to overwhelm. Numbly, she cleans herself up, trying not to wince at the blood.

It wasn't bad, she knows that. It was somewhat uncomfortable and it hurt a little but that's perfectly normal. And he was gentle and caring and what more could she really ask for?

When she returns, he's pulled his pants back on, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Silently, she climbs into bed beside him and after only a moment's hesitation she settles herself against his side.

"Are you okay?" He asks her, pulling her closer to rest against his chest.

Mayra nods. "Yeah, I am."

Alistair presses a kiss to her hair. "Okay. Good. I'm glad it wasn't too... Well, too horrible."

At that, she laughs softly. "No, not _too_ horrible."

He seems almost surprised at her slightly joking tone. "Ouch." She can feel him smiling. "Let's go for mediocre next time, then. Maybe someday we'll even get to average!"

She laughs again, settling close against him and closing her eyes. She's married and she's the queen and it's all very strange and new but she's pretty sure she genuinely _likes_ Alistair and being his wife and bearing his children doesn't seem quite as daunting as it did before.

As she starts to drift off to sleep, Mayra thinks that maybe things are going to be just fine.


	4. A Woman of Strength

_Sorry about the delay! Got a little distracted. Thanks for all the reviews even in the absence of updates, and to Crisium for the beta!_

**Part Four: A Woman of Strength**

The second time is similar. He is nervous and she is scared but his mouth finds hers and they barrel through. The third time is better, she tilts her hips just right and starts to feel like maybe this is why people _do this_- but he is done before the thought really takes hold.

The fourth time, he slides her shift around her hips as usual but does not stop there, up and _off_ and she knows it is ridiculous to feel embarrassed now, but she does. He grins at her as he kisses her breast and Mayra thinks they're getting the hang of this after all.

In the daytime hours, things are less straightforward.

He is learning, under Arl Eamon's guidance and Mayra is schooled enough in the ways of court to recognize that he _tries_ and that is something, at least. The success of those attempts remains to be seen, but she notices the effort.

Arl Eamon does not.

Mayra does not spend much time around the man, but when they pass in the halls he is dark and scowling, muttering under his breath about things she does not understand.

Her days are never unattended. Her mother is always at her side, leading her through the duties to which she must become accustomed. The Royal Palace is large, a household of that size requires delegation, but Mayra must learn to appear as though she controls it all. She had never imagined the work of a queen to be so tedious, so buried in the minutia of everyday events. She is to know the name of every member of the staff, to know their roles and duties and who can be replaced.

It makes her head spin.

In the evenings, she gets a respite. Her mother returns to her father's estate after dinner. She has her own affairs to manage, her own duties to attend to. Mayra does her best, speaking with those she must, making sure the next day's meals are planned and organized, but it does not take her very long.

She finds herself in the library, most evenings. In a large chair, her legs curled under her and a book resting in her lap she tries to pretend things are back to being simple. Back to the days when her plans for the day consisted of little more than meals with her family and the occasional court event. She had never truly appreciated how freeing it was to be unencumbered with duty, with responsibility.

But she is The Queen of Ferelden. Somehow, that happened. It still baffles her from time to time, even after weeks of marriage. It feels a little as though she is dreaming, as though with the slightest shake she will awaken and be back in her father's house.

It startles her, for a moment. Would she have dreamed this for herself? A marriage borne of politics, a role she doesn't fully comprehend? She tries to think, to remember what she had envisioned for her future.

She cannot bring it to mind.

Her reverie is broken, the library's grand doors pushing open to reveal her husband and... a dwarf.

Alistair stops when he sees her, frowning momentarily and appearing at a loss for words. Mayra doesn't get a chance to stand, to excuse herself demurely and defer to the King's presence. If he wants to use the library to converse with the dwarf, that is his place. His expression makes it clear he does not wish her to witness the conversation and-

The dwarf raises a bushy red eyebrow in her direction. "She's a pretty thing up close."

She blinks, unaccustomed to be spoken to... _about_ that blatantly.

From the doorway, Alistair looks mortified. "Yes, she's lovely. So lovely, in fact, that we'll just leave her be and continue this-"

But the dwarf isn't interested. He snorts, stepping further into the room and eyeing Mayra. "We haven't met. Name's Oghren."

She blinks, pulling herself to her feet and nodding as serenely as she can mange. "Mayra," she offers, casting a perplexed look at Alistair. He just looks pained, staying in the doorway and shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Aye, I know. Queen Mayra." He makes a guttural sound that she's almost certain is a laugh. "Beloved daughter of some lord who won the heart of The King, right?"

Uncomfortably, she just looks again to Alistair. His eyes are closed, head leaned down as if in prayer.

"Well good for you!" Oghren grins and for a moment she is terrified he intends to... she isn't sure, but he looks poised for some sort of clap on her arm? He refrains, however. "Boy here needs a strong woman to boss him around. He's no good without it!"

"Oghren!" Alistair's voice is strangled and he finally steps into the room.

Mayra hopes she doesn't look as scandalized as she feels. To speak of the King that way? He is the commander of Ferelden, an accomplished warrior and... Who is this dwarf to speak of him in such a way? And to her?

Alistair ushers the dwarf out of the library with only a quick glance of apology, leaving her standing there beside he abandoned book.

That night, he is waiting for her in their bedchambers. He is sitting on the edge of the bed, forearms across his knees and when he looks up at her entrance she cannot help the slight skip in her heartbeat.

But he looks nervous, as if expecting her to be in some way angry. She is unsure as to why, merely smiling at him and stepping into the antechamber to change into her shift. When she returns, he has settled into bed, lying on his side with his head propped up and there's that skipping heartbeat again...

She lies down on her side of the bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering why she suddenly feels as unsure as that first night... His hand is warm on her side, gently turning her onto her side to face him, mirroring his position with her arm propped up.

He's smiling, still a little nervous, but his hand rests lightly on her hip and there's comfort in that.

"So. Oghren."

Mayra merely nods. "Oghren."

Alistair looks chastened, vaguely embarrassed. "He's an interesting sort. Not much for class and... proper behaviour around ladies."

She nods again, that much had been evident.

"He's, ah," Alistair barrels on, looking past her shoulder. "an old friend, fought with us against The Blight. Great with an axe, terrible with... lots of other things."

"He fought in The Battle of Denerim?" Mayra blinks at that, trying to picture the dwarf fighting to save the human capital. It's not an easy image to come to.

Alistair nods, his fingers slipping under her shift to rest against the bare skin of her thigh. "Yeah, he was there with us at the top of Fort Drakon, when we defeated the Archdemon."

She shivers, unsure if it comes from his touch or the events he speaks of. So casually, to mention defeating the Archdemon, quelling The Blight... The urge to ask him of it hits her strongly. To hear the stories of his journey, the tale of how he ended up King, how he fought alongside The Hero of Ferelden and...

The instinct to question him falls away, something heavy and sudden in the pit of her stomach as she remembers the way Alistair had looked that night. The time she had met The Hero of Ferelden herself, had seen the strength and grace the woman possessed and-

_Boy here needs a strong woman to boss him around. He's no good without it!_

Oghren's words ring in her head, confusion swirling around them it feels like something has clicked into place.

Mayra just isn't sure what.

Alistair's hand is creeping higher, over her hip and trailing heat across her skin. He's looking at her with thinly veiled desire and the skipping beat of her heart returns.

So she goes to him, pressing her body against his own and when he kisses her she can think of nothing else.

Mayra only hopes it is the same for him.


	5. And the Seasons Change

**Part Five: And the Seasons Change  
**

With spring, court becomes busier. Nobles from all ends of Ferelden make their way to Denerim, seeking audience with the King. Trade agreements, troop placement, Mayra overhears bits of conversation about them all.

When she catches sight of Alistair, walking the halls with his advisors or sitting at a desk in the study, he looks tired. But when he sees her, when their eyes meet for even a fleeting second, he smiles.

The funny little skip to her heartbeat is always there, whenever he gives her that look. Bashful and private, as though something very personal passes between them in those moments and Mayra half wonders if this is what it feels like to fall in love?

But he is not the only one who is tired.

With the nobles of the land come their wives, their daughters and as the queen, Mayra is expected to hold audiences with many of them. A casual lunch one day, a formal tea another and she learns very quickly just what information she is to gather from these events. She is a natural at the airs and graces of courtly conversation, at giving away exactly what is necessary and taking far more than anyone realizes. Even Arl Eamon seems grudgingly impressed by her skill.

She proves herself a useful queen, if only in subtle ways.

There is a cost to manipulation, however casual, and Mayra finds herself lethargic, tired and sore in ways she has never felt before. Most evenings she is asleep before Alistair ever makes it to bed, fatigue washing over her.

In the mornings, he makes love to her. Sunrise spills in the windows and he's warm and bright above her, smiling against her mouth as she gasps. They've gotten better at this, at giving and taking and finding that moment of bliss together. Her hands are no longer hesitant as they slide over his arms, his chest. Her thighs cradle his hips as if they were meant to and when he surges against her with release, she follows him over the edge.

The frequency of their intimacy is not lost on the palace. She hears the whispers, the laughter and frank admiration it inspires and Mayra presses down an odd surge of pride. She doesn't really understand the reaction, they are only doing their marital duties... Still, it makes her smile.

Spring starts to give way to summer and traffic in the palace keeps increasing. Mayra pushes herself, making every political connection she is told to. Every day she has a different wife to speak with, a different daughter to smile at in hopes of garnering something about her father's interests.

The heat of summer beats down on Denerim and her schedule is uncharacteristically clear, Mayra retreats to the bedchamber. She does not know where Alistair is, but even with the slim chances of him stopping by, she unlaces her dress and steps out of her shift. In only her skin, Mayra lies down for a nap. It feels luxurious, to lie in her bed in the middle of the day and though her back hurts, she exhales happily, thankful for the respite. Should her husband happen upon her, well... She blushes into the pillow, smiling with wicked delight at her own scheme.

She is not halfway to sleep when the door opens.

It is not Alistair, but her mother. Along with an older woman Mayra does not know.

Under the thin sheet, Mayra flushes, embarrassed to be caught in such a state of undress.

But her mother only smiles, passing her the discarded shift from the floor and bidding her to sit up in the bed after she pulls it over her head.

"Mayra, dear." Her hand finds Mayra's on the bed and she squeezes it, "This is Nerrum," she motions at the older woman, standing near the door with a bag. "She's going to examine you."

Mayra blinks. "Examine me? Why?"

Her mother only smiles, patting her hand once as she steps aside and Nerrum moves to the bedside.

Mayra isn't sure how long the examination goes on, but by the time it is finished she thinks she must be blushing the darkest shade of red possible. Whenever she had looked to her mother appalled, aghast at what was happening, she had been met with a smile and a nod. Murmured words of comfort and when Mayra is permitted to pull a robe around herself, she retreats into the antechamber to get dressed.

She is a married woman, as she busies herself selecting and putting on a dress she tells herself this is just how she is to be examined from now on.

When she goes back into the bedchamber, her mother is beaming.

Confused, Mayra opens her mouth to ask why but finds herself caught up in an embrace.

She can't remember the last time her mother hugged her.

"Congratulations! Oh Mayra, this is wonderful." Her mother is smiling and fussing with the fit of her dress. "We must go and tell Eamon!"

"Wha-Tell Arl Eamon what? Mother what are you talking about?'

The midday sun shines through the curtains and her mother grins, taking her arms. "Mayra, you're with child."

Everything seems to stop.

With child? It had been her goal, she knows this, but... vainly, she tries to think back on her last monthly cycle and frowns, realizing she cannot recall when it had been. Unbidden, her hand is on her stomach and all Mayra can do is request to sit down.

Much later, after the news has had time to spread and an official announcement is being prepared, Mayra sits in bed. She still feels faint, numb as though she hadn't heard correctly. She knows the shock shouldn't be so great, that an heir was the ultimate goal to her marriage. This confirms her fertility and solidifies her place at Alistair's side for the rest of her reign.

She just had not expected it so soon.

Mayra knows that had been foolish. Alistair's control over the country is still very tentative, having an heir will secure his place and continue the Theirin line. It was only natural that he would want to do so as quickly as possible...

The bed is empty beside her and the palace is quiet. Evening has slipped into night and there is still no sign of her husband, of the father of her child.

She slips from the bed on silent feet. Lanterns glow in the hallways of the palace and while she isn't sure exactly where she will find him, his study seems to be the best place to start.

She can hear an argument.

The door is heavy, designed to muffle the sound, but Mayra can make out voices. Eamon's, she is sure of it. And a woman... she frowns.

Her mother?

She cannot hear what they are saying and for a moment, she isn't sure Alistair is even in there with them at all. She is so close to stepping away, about to continue down the hallway in search of her husband.

"I never wanted this!"

Alistair's voice, raised higher than the others and ringing clearly through the door and Mayra stops in her tracks.

She doesn't hear what comes next. Whatever Eamon is saying is too low to carry into the hallway and in a moment of panic, she flees back to the bedchamber. Her heart hammers in her chest as she pulls the blankets around her body.

Pressing her eyes together to block back tears, she tries to convince herself the argument was about something else. That he is sequestered with Arl Eamon and her mother over trouble in the Bannorn... But she feels like she's being torn apart, his words ringing in her ears.

She is having their baby and he has not come to see her. He did not rush to her side at the news, he did not smile at her as her mother had.

She loves him, is pregnant with his child and he did not come to her.

She spends the night alone.


	6. In The Dark

_A/N: Sorry about the delay! It comes to me in spurts. As always, thanks to my beta and the support I get in reviews. It's always lovely to hear!_

**Part Six: In The Dark  
**

He has been gone for a week.

In the empty bedchamber, Mayra stares at the ceiling. Her hands lay laced over her stomach and in the darkness of the room she tries to focus on her breathing. In and out, calculated and measured and every one taken as carefully as she can.

It had been naive to think Alistair's attention on her had been focused in any direction other than pregnancy. He needed an heir; she supplied the vessel. Now that this has been accomplished, he is gone. Off to Amaranthine on some kind of emergency and she has not seen him since she learned of her condition.

But that's okay.

Over and over she tells herself, a litany in her mind that she is fine with this. She is the queen, and it is her duty to bear his child. For Ferelden.

The night creeps on and Mayra stays alone.

In the second week, she gets word of her father's illness.

He has fallen victim to disease, they tell her. His lungs are not acting as they should and no spirit healer can understand what is happening. Far away in his bannorn, he is ill and alone and Mayra stares out the window and wishes she could go to him.

Her mother shrugs off her worry, tells her that her father is strong. He will pull through. She laughs, hugs her daughter and returns to conversation with Arl Eamon.

Mayra feels very alone.

She thinks of Alistair, thinks of him in Amaranthine and tries to tell herself he must be solving an important state concern. Amaranthine is a port city and very important. Its strategic significance surely lends to complicated situations arising?

Dutifully, she shuts her eyes and forces away any consideration of who else is likely there.

The start of the third week, he finally returns. Mayra is in the gardens, hands folded neatly in her lap as she lets the afternoon sun play against her arms and thinks of her father, her mother and the child that grows within her. They had done this once, her parents. Had waited through a pregnancy that resulted in her birth and she closes her eyes and tries to imagine her parents as young as she feels.

He clears his throat and she raises her eyes. Her king, her husband, standing in the entry to the gardens, armour dirty from travel, hair mussed and in need of a bath... Looking at her like he expects to be berated.

She wants to. She wants to scold him, to project the weight of his abandonment in a tangible way that he will understand. She longs to have the marriage where she can speak freely and give all of herself in exchange for the same from him. For the first time, regret and longing push up from her stomach and Mayra has to cast her gaze to the ground to keep from an outburst.

Pregnant or not, she is still the queen. It would not be fair to expect things of him he never promised her to begin with and she fights for control over her words.

"You've returned." An obvious statement, her voice calm and collected and all she wants is for him to go, again.

"Yeah, I'm back." She can hear the nerves dancing along his voice and it's as though they have started again. All their closeness, all the intimacy they had forged carefully between them stands on the edge of a precipice tilting toward a fall. To Mayra, it feels absurd. His child grows within her stomach and the weight of weeks apart has them acting like strangers.

"I trust the coast was pleasant?" She folds her hands, seated on a bench in the garden, pregnant and wishing there were some joy to be found in it.

Alistair nods, raking a hand through his hair and he's still looking at her like he expects some sort of reprimand. He looks boyish, nervous and stuttered. Mayra struggles to ignore the tight pull on her heart he causes with every innocent feature. He is no child. He does not get to look at her with those eyes and that expression and have her melt...

"Pleasant, yeah. If you like Darkspawn and bandits and general mayhem and stuff like that."

He crosses the distance then, coming to a stop before her. She looks up at him, golden sunlight framing his face and she has to choke back a surge of affection. How easy it would be to step into his arms, to be embraced by him and kissed by him, to fall back down into the pit of love she'd been slowly trying to escape since his departure.

No, she cannot be besotted. He is the king and he will break her heart time and time again and for the sake of their child, she needs to be strong.

Mayra nods. "The Warden Commander is fortunate to have you in Amaranthine's time of need." She says it smoothly, rehearsed in tone and countenance and somewhere in the darkness of her heart she feels a tiny surge of pride at how well she pulls it off.

He grimaces at that, searching her eyes and swallowing before he speaks. "Mayra, I-"

She stands, cutting him off as she smoothes her skirt and regards him with a cool smile. "It bears no explanation, Alistair."Another nod and she prays he does not see how her hands clench at the fabric of her dress. "You are the King and a Grey Warden. It is only natural that the Warden Commander requires your assistance."

"Mayra..." He doesn't finish the sentence, looking at her with a crumpled sort of resignation that nearly breaks her resolve.

Yet she needs to be strong, to press forward with her heart intact and ready to be given to their child with the unconditional love of a mother. Neatly, she places her hand on Alistair's arm, the hardness of his armour feeling cold under her palm. "I am glad you have returned. You should bathe. We can discuss the baby over dinner." She pauses only a moment, unaccustomed to speaking with intent to harm. "You did know of my condition, yes?"

He looks miserable, younger than ever before and Mayra feels the strange tug inside of her once more as he nods.

"Good," she smiles again, the gesture lacking in any emotion at all. "We shall speak over a meal." Her hands still clench the fabric as she makes her retreat, already at the edge of the gardens when he calls out to her.

"Mayra. I wasn't... I didn't..." He swallows and even with her back turned it is not difficult to imagine the look on his face. "You are my wife."

Thankful for her turned back, Mayra fights to keep herself composed. "And you are my husband." She reminds him. "I will not ask as to what sanctity you hold those facts."

She leaves then, carried back into the palace on hurried feet and unwilling to risk furthering the conversation. Her peace said, her fears put to words. There is a tightening inside of her she had not expected. She makes it to an antechamber before the tears start. Her husband has returned to her, his child grows within her and Mayra has never felt more alone.


End file.
